


The Little Things

by TaraLaurel1



Series: The Impossible Things [1]
Category: Four Brothers (2005)
Genre: Afterlife, Brotherhood, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Gen, Hurt Bobby, Hurt/Comfort, Memories, Suspense, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 07:12:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1170174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaraLaurel1/pseuds/TaraLaurel1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hey, Bobby." A voice pierced the silence Bobby hadn't even noticed was hanging in the eerily still air...If he wasn't already close to death, he would have guessed his heart stopped right then and there. "Jack?" Bobby's jaw went slack and he felt his clenched, stopped heart begin to race...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Home

It was nearly midnight and Bobby Mercer was walking home. Actually, it was more like irately stomping home with as much anger in his step as he could muster with a limp. And he wasn't going home, not really. Without his mother and baby brother, and with the recent facelift courtesy of Sweet's gangbangers, the building no longer felt like home to the eldest remaining Mercer. He had tried to make it home again, and at least succeeded in restoring it to a livable house with the help of his brothers. He truly did make an effort. He even swore to his mother from beyond the grave that he would. Yet shuffling through the biting March wind, in the middle of the night, after the day that he had just experienced, seemed as though the preverbal nail in the in the "give up already" sign. The nail didn't land in a coffin. Although he had seriously contemplated his own existence and often yearned to taste a metallic bullet over that of the unforgiving grief, he simply could not leave his remaining family behind. They needed him now more than ever. At least, that is what he told himself to get through the particularly difficult days. This day had been one of those. By the time his mother's house was in sight, he was ready to pack his bags and get away from it all. He could still be there for his brothers without physically being there to be emotionally slammed with constant reminders of everything he was desperately trying to move past.

Angel and Bobby took turns sleeping in their mother's room, Jack's bed, the couch, or at the dining room table, wherever their wandering, middle-of-the-night-grief led them. This last night, Bobby had spent the majority of it tossing and turning on the couch after stumbling in sometime after two o'clock in the morning that he couldn't remember when if interrogated. His hangover officially began with the shrill ringing of the house telephone at eight-o-six. A very ornery and very masculine woman's voice had promptly informed them that their power was to be shut off due to unpaid electric bills. Bobby hung up on the voice and cursed his, now, youngest brother.

They had tried to come up with some sort of a system after everything calmed down. It mostly consisted of Jeremiah and Camille setting up a budget and a plan of action for them. One of the bullet points on their finely tuned list was that Angel was responsible for the electric bill. They each had their responsibilities and bills, but this particular one had been placed in Angel's guilty lap.

Bobby sighed and groggily slid his feet across the floor as they seemed to not desire to obey his commands this morning. Sifting through a heap on the kitchen table that was deemed as their "important papers" filing system, even though Jeremiah had shown them how to use their mother's file cabinet and folders, Bobby found what he was reluctantly searching for. The normal Bobby Mercer foamed at the mouth for control and leadership. But the normal Bobby Mercer had hardly shown his face for three months. Angel was the first one up and therefore retrieved the mail, throwing any bills or letters for Bobby next to the snoozing man's head, wherever he had passed out the night before. Bobby still was trying, so he did manage to remain responsible and take care of his duties and fair share. He never thought to check up on his little brother to make sure he was doing the same. The Bobby Mercer that has existed in this shell of a human being for three months woke up, worked, took care of what needed to be taken care of around the house or town, zoned out to a hockey game and then either fell asleep by the sweet lullaby of whatever alcohol they had in the house or motivated himself to at least fall into that intoxicated bliss at a local bar. Angel was asleep by the time Bobby started in and hid the effects the following day quite well. He cracked jokes that came to him absentmindedly and put on as good of a show as he could to fool his family.

Either Angel was incredibly irresponsible, stupid, or too not fully dealing with the recent events that shook the Mercers. Whichever one was the cause of the soon-to-be-shut-off-power, Angel would still get a verbal whooping. The fake Bobby was pretty good at laying those out too without awakening the broken and emotionally crippled Bobby that hid inside.

It turned out that Angel was spending just as much money on self-medication that Bobby was, plus buying Sofi food, clothes and presents as she had nearly taken up permanent resident status at the Mercer house. They wouldn't be able to collect enough to quell the power company with a minimum payment at least for a few days and with some assistance from Jeremiah. This meant that two were thrust back into medieval times in their home. Sofi and Camille brought by some candles and Jerry gave up a cooler so that they didn't lose all of their perishables, which mostly consisted of frozen pizzas and left over Chinese.

By the time had spent his own lacking energy chewing Angel out and then had been submitted to a lecture from Jeremiah, which quickly spiraled into a heated argument, Bobby had forgotten about his hangover and was ready to go start the process of creating one all over again. He chose Johnny's over an unheated house, even though it was nothing compared to how bitterly cold it had gotten after the shooting. He had arrived at the bar several hours before his normal drowning his sorrows away began, but Johnny made no comment. He also said nothing when he neglected to charge the eldest Mercer for any of his drinks that night. Johnny always had a way of knowing when something was going on. With his ears around the city and the eagerly flapping jaws that he served, he most likely already knew about the unpaid bill; Just like the week before when Bobby came in early and he knew it was because he had lost another job. Bobby didn't pay for drinks that night either.

Not desiring to take advantage of the hospitality and secretly loathing the way it felt like pity, Bobby abandoned his barstool early. Bobby Mercer always hated pity, but now it only reminded him of the reason behind it. Usually the alcohol succeeded at pushing those things from his mind. But tonight they only magnified them. He pictured Evelyn and Jack more clearly then he had since they both had died and couldn't stand it.

He was about halfway home when his once pride and joy began to sputter. It groaned until finally coming to a rolling and dismal stop in the middle of the road. The hunk of metal had all but been totaled during the brothers' little car chase adventure in the snow. Once the house had been finished being fixed, Bobby had turned his attention to his old car that he had been stowing in the junk yard of an old friend and "business colleague". It was just something else to distract him. Apparently, the car was even beyond Bobby's mechanical touch. It was the fourth time in the last two weeks it had rolled over and died and Bobby finally decided that he would let it rest in peace. With a grunt, Bobby punched the steering wheel and flung the door open, vaguely aware of the few cars that were passing and honking irritably. He paid them no attention when in earlier years he would have purposefully flashed them a certain finger or done something to provoke an altercation. Instead, Bobby desperately attempted to contain himself as he stood almost statue-like. He felt himself boiling on the inside, everything bubbling up, eagerly waiting to erupt. Emotions scratched and memories clawed their way to the surface with intense force. He couldn't hold it all back. Not this time. With an animalistic yell, Bobby spun around, slamming the door shut. His foot landed harshly against the metal and then the hubcap. The pain didn't even register right away. He had no inclination as to how long he remained there, shouting to the night sky and beating up his once prized possession.

It wasn't until he had resigned himself to walking home in silent tears that the stinging began. It started dull, but with each step, grew angrier until even stoic Bobby had to shift a portion of his weight off of the throbbing limb. Bobby felt a suddenly strange sensation sweep over him. He cautiously glanced around, slowly reaching for the gun that rested in his waistband. He had to admit that he wasn't a big fan of weapons after what happened to his brother and mother, but this still was Detroit. Rolling his shoulders back, he shrugged off the feeling and continued walking.

He wasn't far from home when the feeling overwhelmed him again. Before he could even react, a car screeched around the corner, jumping the curb. Bobby barely got his hands on his gun before the racing vehicle collided with his body. He felt himself crunch, or was it the metal? He couldn't tell. All he knew in that moment was pain. He suddenly felt glass shattering underneath him and then his body tumbled back down across the hood of the car and landed harshly on the unforgiving pavement. He could faintly hear a car door open and slam shut. He groaned and attempted to reach for his gun. With his other hand, he pushed himself shakily off the ground. His vision was clouded, along with his mind. The last thing Bobby knew was the snap of a bullet being released and darkness overtaking him, his limp arm reaching out for home.


	2. Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This was originally going to be the first chapter. Set it up kind of confusing and wondering what is going on with Bobby and then - BAM - Jack is there. Then after Jack asks the question at the end, flashback to what happened. I decided on this way instead and delayed instant-Jack-gratification.

"The happiness of life is made up of minute fractions - the little soon forgotten charities of a kiss or smile, a kind look, a heartfelt compliment, and the countless infinitesimal of pleasurable and genial feeling." - Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Everything was hazy and spinning all at the same time. It was like the entire world was collapsing in on itself in one swift motion. There was a flash and everything went white before Bobby suddenly found himself at a vaguely familiar place. It was odd that after such a complex and new experience that he would end up somewhere so familiar. He blinked hard, half expecting the white flash or the whirling sensation to return. When it didn't, Bobby took in his surroundings.

It was an ice rink of some sort. Of course, Bobby scoffed to himself, where else would I be? Maybe this was his version of heaven or some surreal near-death dream. At least, he imagined he was dying or dead. The last thing he remembered had been agony, sheer, overwhelming, blinding pain that had turned his world black before he had strangely been brought here.

So, there he was, sitting on a bench, next an ice rink of all places. This didn't seem all that spectacular or awe-inspiring like he thought something like heaven would be. Still, his vision was recovering and a layer of cloudiness seemed to be spread like a blanket over everything. He felt like he was underwater momentarily and then abruptly surfaced as the images around him screamed at him with a sharp clarity not held naturally on earth. Something was different. The color and shape of the rink were wrong. He glanced around, but beyond the ice there was merely, nothing. Complete empty void, white as far as the eye could see. It jarringly reminded him of the view he had that day on the frozen water, walking towards the man responsible for his mother and brother's deaths. This wasn't right. Bobby stood and like an explosion, the rest of the scenery appeared around him. It wasn't a rink at all. Bobby glanced up at the towering threes and the depressed, grey sky. He frowned. For some reason he had at least expected nice weather in heaven – or wherever he was. He lowered his head and scanned the nature-made skating rink before him. He knew this place somehow. He simply couldn't reach the memory. It was there, pulling on the back of his overwhelmed mind like a forgotten errand or name.

"Hey, Bobby." A voice pierced the silence Bobby hadn't even noticed that was handing in the eerily still air.

Bobby went rigid from something other than the sudden cold he also hadn't before taken account of. He sucked in a quaking breath and slowly released it, watching it form in the brisk air and then fade into nothingness. Just as he figured he was doing. He couldn't bring himself to turn around because the voice behind him could not possibly have been real. His dying, fading, mind was playing cruel tricks on him, just like it created this false world he was somehow standing in. He listened as footsteps broke through the snow and he trembled violently as he kept his eyes straight forward. He would not allow himself to turn around, not even look. The bearer of the all-too-familiar and painful voice forced his way into Bobby's hardened line of sight. Bobby closed his eyes, muttering inaudibly to himself. After a few seemingly endless seconds, he reopened them. If he wasn't already close to being dead, he would have guessed his heart stopped right then and there.

"Jack?" Bobby's jaw went slack and he felt his clenched, stopped heart begin to race.

The shaggy haired, grinning face was almost too much for Bobby to handle. He paused, the logical part of his mind holding his anxious and eager heart back. He yearned to lunge forward and tackle the young man into the biggest embrace Bobby Mercer had ever given anyone, but he simply couldn't. He could not allow himself to get his hopes up like that.

"In answer to your question, no, I'm not alive, and, no, you're not dead yet."

Bobby narrowed his brow. That deep tone was just enough to break him into pieces.

"I thought I was the quiet one," the figure resembling the youngest Mercer shrugged.

"Are you real?" Bobby hardly realized he had found his voice or verbalized his internal question. "I mean – are –"

"Am I really Jack? Am I the ghost of you brother or am I a figment of your imagination? Now, that's a deep question from a guy who shoots first and asks questions never."

Bobby couldn't hold himself back any longer. He stepped forward abruptly and wrapped his arms around Jack in one swift movement. Ghost or figment or angel or whatever – Bobby didn't care. If he really was dying, he would grant himself some amount of weakness and psychosis before it happened. What was the point with putting up a front if the only one to see it is your dead kid brother? Jack tightly hugged back before carefully pulling away.

"You don't remember this place, do you?" Jack guessed correctly. "Winter of '93. You brought me out here after the lesson at the park with Jerry and Angel ended in me falling on my ass and crying."

"You were a little fairy," Bobby nodded, surprised at how easy it was to slip back into natural conversation after the Jack he knew had been gone for so long.

"I was eight." Jack grumbled back. "You brought me here so you could teach me one-on-one, even if your 'lessons' weren't the most kid-friendly."

"You skate better than Jerry or Angel now, though," Bobby countered.

"Skated," Jack solemnly corrected. "Huh. It's weird the little things you miss."

There was a thick tension then.

"What's with the big ass hole out there?" Bobby nodded to a sudden opening in the ice, finding anything to avoid the obvious.

"Man, you must be getting old. Your memory is shit."

"Shut up." Bobby playfully pushed Jack and then his grin quickly dropped. "Shit. I remember. I pushed you. I was showing you how to body-check. I pushed you and you went too far out. You couldn't stop yourself and you ended up out in the middle of the lack. The ice was too thin and you fell in. You almost drowned."

"But you pulled me out," Jack reminded him with a soft smile. "You saved me."

"Too bad I couldn't do it twice." Bobby sighed and felt his throat swell. "Listen, Jack –"

"Leave it alone, man. It's all in the past." Jack hesitated. "Remember how pissed Evelyn was when we came home soaking wet and freezing."

"Ma wasn't pissed. You just always thought she was gonna get mad at you for every little thing you did. I swear, you fucking freaked out if you got a damn hangnail."

"Why are you here, Bobby?" Jack suddenly questioned sternly.

"What the hell? Aren't you the one that's supposed to know the answer to that shit?"

"Nah. That'd be too easy."

"When did you become Mr. Fucking Philosophy, smartass?"

"Come on, Bobby," Jack pressed, not taking the bait. "Why are you here?"

"Here? As in this place or dying or on the planet? Man, you're just as annoying now as when you were –" He quickly cut himself off and grunted.

"Alive? Yeah, it gets easier to talk about. Let's start simple, Bobby. What do you remember?"


	3. Fight

_"My feet are stuck here against the pavement. I wanna break free, I wanna make it." – The Little Things, by Colby Caillat and Jason Reeves._

Bobby finished verbally replaying the last moments on earth that he could piece together in his memory. His anger toward Angel. His grief. His unfixable and unforgiving hunk of metal he couldn't even rightly call a vehicle anymore. The headlights. The impact. The pain.

Bobby leaned forward suddenly, grunting and wrapping an arm around his abdomen. The unknown and abrupt agony nearly brought him to his knees.

"What the fuck?" Bobby spat and blood accompanied his words.

Without warning, he shot straight up and scanned his surroundings. He had no idea where this sudden sensation was coming from but somehow his brother's face flashed in front of him.

"Angel?"

"It wasn't a car accident, Bobby," Jack stated solemnly. "It wasn't random."

Bobby felt himself unraveling.

"What the hell is going on?"

"It wasn't just you," Jack frowned.

"Angel." Bobby hissed. "Those sons of bitches were right outside our house. They were coming for us. Shit. I have to go back. I have to help him. Bobby spun around in circles before throwing his hands up in the air. "How the fuck do I get out of here?"

"You can't. Not yet. You're not ready."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Bobby, you were hit by a damn car and shot in the face point blank. Even if you did go back, you'd just be a bloody mess on the street and no help to Angel."

"They're gonna fucking kill him!" Bobby roared.

* * *

 

Angel heard the gunshot and was sitting up in bed with his own weapon already retrieved from underneath his pillow before its echo had left the night air. Ever since he had been with the Marines, this was how he awoke to any loud sound. The fog from sleep abruptly lifted and he leapt out from underneath his covers. He immediately went to the window, ducking low and peering outside. The image he saw illuminated by headlights nearly caused him to collapse back on to his floor. The sudden shock, horror, grief, fear and rage that attacked him was promptly interrupted when he heard the door downstairs burst open. Emotions had to wait. Survival instincts kicked in and he hurriedly grabbed his second gun that was stored under his bed. He had kept both guns that he had used the day Victor Sweet's boys had attacked their home. The Mercer house didn't turn down free gifts, even if they were stolen from contract killers.

He crept down the hall and paused at the top of the stairs as several intruders entered his home. He quietly stepped back, concealing himself behind his bedroom door. He watched as a gun-wielding man crossed the threshold and searched the room curiously. Without making any alarming noises to alert the intruder's friends, Angel slipped out from hiding and swiftly took the man down, thankful for his combat training more than ever. It was difficult for him to employ what he learned around his brothers. Bobby didn't take the time to calculate or utilize the element of surprise. He went in, guns blazing and hollering cocky remarks without a second thought.

Thinking of Bobby turned up the notch on Angel's already pumping adrenaline. He heard another individual in the hall who has about to enter his room. Angel swung his door so hard that he imagined it broke the man's nose. He landed a quick punch to his face and the bleeding man collapsed backwards. He yearned to charge downstairs as he had no idea of the state of his disfigured brother but stopped himself. He stealthily made his way down the steps and came up behind the slimmer of the two intruders that were left. Wrapping a strong arm around the man's throat, he pointed his gun at the back of the fourth stranger's head. The bullet ejected eagerly from Angel's gun and planted itself successfully in the back of the man's skull. Without hesitation, he pointed the gun against his captive's temple.

"Who sent you?" He demanded.

"Fuck you, man. I ain't tellin' you shit."

"Then you'll get a bullet in your fucking brain like your friend."

"Just do it. You're wasting precious time questioning me when you could be with your pathetic dying brother."

The statement shook Angel enough to give his capture an opening he had been aiming for. He shifted and planted an elbow straight into Angel's stomach and then reeled around, slamming his own gun across Angel's jaw. Angel tasted iron and quickly spit the red liquid on the floor. He could see the gun being raised to his head out of the corner of his eye.

"Say 'hi' to the rest of your family for me," the man snickered.

An animalistic growl exploded from Angel's throat and he whipped his arm around. Before the gunman knew what was going on, the former soldier had hold of the weapon and a bullet was penetrating his forehead. Angel didn't wait for the corpse to finish collapsing as he turned and raced out the door.

He slammed to his knees next to his brother as the scene felt all too familiar t him. Another Mercer brother dying right in front of their home. Angel screamed his eldest brother's name knowingly in vain. He could barely see Bobby's closed eyelids underneath all of the blood. Frantically, Angel searched Bobby's pockets and pulled out a now battered cell phone. He only prayed it still worked. Flipping it open, he punched 911 and shouted the situation to the frazzled operator.

"Is he breathing?"

Angel almost dropped the phone. He hadn't checked. He couldn't check. He knew the procedure. He was well-trained in field medical emergency care, but this wasn't a battlefield or a random fallen comrade. This was his brother. If he did check and found nothing, Angel wasn't sure he could handle that. But this wasn't about him. Angel stiffened. This was about Bobby. His fears and issues had to be shoved aside. He couldn't risk Bobby's life over something a trivial as fear.

"Sir? Sir? You need to –"

I got it. I got it." Angel almost yelled and quickly examined Bobby for any sign of life.

"He's breathin'! He's alive!" Angel exclaimed more to himself that the operator.

Angel's adrenaline took over yet again and he proceeded to do all he could to keep his brother alive. He just had to get him to hold on long enough for the paramedics to arrive.

"Hang in there, Bobby. Come on, man. You fight. You fucking fight, a'ight. Don't you dare give up. Stay with me. Damn it, come on! You're Bobby fucking Mercer! You fight! Come on, Bobby!"

 

* * *

The words rang out in Bobby's ears and he looked around to find the brother calling out to him. It was as if his voice was erupting from the murky sky. He spun around to see Jack smiling softly.

"It's nice to hear that voice again," Jack sighed.

"What am I supposed to do?" Bobby demanded venomously. "He's tellin' me to fight! Fight what? I'm stuck here! I'm stuck in some damn memory and somehow I have to fight?"

"You don't  _have_ to do anything," Jack corrected.

"But I want to fight!" Bobby countered. "I need to fight! I need to wake the fuck up and find the bastards who did this!"

"If you're going to win this fight, Bobby, it's got to be about more than simply winning and beating them. That's not going to be enough, man."

"Then what the fuck is?" Bobby demanded.

"I'm sorry, Bobby. I can't tell you that."

"Jack, you turned into a real philosophical dick in the afterlife."


	4. Lesson

_"Anyone can do a little more, learn a little more, and grow a little more each day. Soon, with consistent effort, those 'little bits' add up to major accomplishments. Is there something you want to change? Today is the day to start changing it." – Ralph Marston_

Bobby suddenly felt nauseous. He was vaguely pissed about that. He figured after getting run over by a car and having a bullet lodged in his face, he could be at least be spared discomfort in the afterlife, or pre-afterlife, or wherever he was.

The scenery surrounding him was melting into the white abyss, a new atmosphere birthing from seemingly nowhere. Outside became inside. The grass underneath his feet became a hardwood floor. Bobby blinked and watched the familiar home around him. The scents he would never forget flooded his senses. The warmth of not only being in a house, but being inside this home, enwrapped his chilled bones. He was still taking it all in when Jack wandered in from the kitchen, as if it were any old day at the Mercer house.

Bobby didn't know if he was more overjoyed to see his brother again, pissed at how casually Jack was handling all of this, or grief stricken in realizing the real Jack would never aimlessly wander through this house again.

"What now?" Bobby huffed, "Okay, we're at Ma's house. That could be damn near a million different memories."

As he spoke, a soft ballad broke out of the stillness. It was muffled, hesitant, and sounded more like noise than music. Bobby glanced back over to the kitchen but Jack was suddenly gone. Leaning towards pissed, Bobby ascended the stairs and crept down the familiar hall, following the sound. When he finally found himself outside of Jack's room, he wasn't surprised. What did surprise him was when a ten year younger version of himself appeared on his side. The mid-twenties Bobby paid no notice to the adult Bobby as they both listened through the door. The younger Bobby shook his head and went to burst inside when suddenly the unfriendly noise stopped and was replaced by a string of curses. The younger Bobby paused and opened the door with less force than originally intended.

An eleven year old Jack sat dejectedly on the edge of the bed, mumbling bitterly and shoving his guitar underneath his bed.

_"You know, it's not porn, you don't have to hide it," young Bobby announced his presence._

_"Bobby?" Jack obviously tried to hide the excitement in his voice. "What are you doing here?"_

_"Can't a brother stop by to say 'hi' and tell his little brother to cut the racket?"_

_Jack's joyful expression clouded but he quickly composed himself._

_"Suspended again?"_

_Bobby grunted and slumped down next to his youngest brother._

_"Some fucker got all up in my face after a game about a cheap shot or some shit. He had it comin'. He's in the hospital and here I am. So, you wanna tell me why you're shoving that thing underneath your bed like it's diseased?"_

_"No," Jack mumbled, crossing his arms and reminding Bobby how much of a kid his kid brother still was._

_"So, if you hate the damn thing so much, you won't mind if I pawn it for beer money, would ya?"_

_Jack unsuccessfully attempted to mask the horror stricken look that crossed his face._

_"Whatever," he was barely audible now._

_"Okay, Cracker Jack, what's the problem? Strings hurting these delicate little girl fingers of yours?"_

_Bobby received no response from the young boy._

_"Did Angel or Jerry make fun of you for it or something?" Bobby questioned, but really had no room to ask considering he offered the brunt of the musician jokes. "Kids at school? Come on, Jackie. Help me out here. What the fuck is wrong?"_

_"I can't do it," Jack whispered through clenched teeth. "I suck."_

_Bobby pushed a plethora of jests down his throat and sighed._

_"So, you just gonna give up? I thought you loved all that music shit?"_

_"Angel's really good at football. Jerry's really good at building things. And you got hockey. Evelyn is good at sewing and cooking and everything. I'm no good at nothing."_

_Bobby nodded and sighed. Of course this wasn't just about the guitar. With Jack, it always went deeper._

_"Jack, you hate football and could give a shit less about construction. You're actually a pretty good skater, but you got no muscle on those scrawny ass bones to back it up. I think I might have to disown you as a brother and man if you started sewing or knitting or any of that shit. Those aren't your things. This is. As gay or annoying I think it is, this is what you do and what makes you happy."_

_"But I'm no good!"_

_"You're eleven fucking years old and you got that thing two months ago for Christmas. Damn, Jack, it takes practice. Just like hockey, although I've just always kicked ass at that. Mercers don't quit, Jack. Ever. You hear me?"_

_Jack mumbled some sort of incoherent reply._

_"Huh? You listen to me, right now. Mercers do not quit. You don't quit, okay?"_

_"Okay," Jack nodded._

_"So," Bobby began, reaching under the bed to grab the guitar and shove it in Jack's arms, "quit your damn cryin', toughin' up, and get your ass back to practicing."_

The slimmer Bobby and the shorted Jack faded away and Bobby merely sighed. He was about to inspect the other bedrooms for hidden recollections when his brother was at his side.

"Shit, Jack," Bobby shook his head, "you wanna kill me twice by giving me a damn heart attack? What the hell is going on with this Scrooge shit? I thought this was supposed to be my after-life-dying-vision quest-nightmare-walk down memory lane-shit." Bobby sighed. "Why are they all about –"

"Me? Well, like you said, this is your 'after-life-dying-vision quest-nightmare-walk down memory lane-shit'."

Bobby cocked an eyebrow at his brother's quotation.

"Simple, Bobby," Jack whispered, the jesting put aside. "I'm your root pain."

"What?"

"I think you know what I mean, but if you really don't, you'll see soon."

"I really hate cryptic Jack," Bobby shook his head with a grunt. "This is like when we tried to get you to talk when you first came to Ma."

"So you do remember some shit with me?" Jack teased.

"Shut up, Cracker Jack."

"Never thought I'd miss all those dumbass nicknames," Jack bowed his head.

"Maybe it's the person behind the giving of the kickass nicknames you miss."

"Doubt it," Jack laughed sarcastically

"Now that hurts," Bobby frowned playfully. "Alright, where next?"

"Hey, it's your after-life-dying-vision –"

"Yeah, yeah. Shut up. Oh, wait. Here we go. I'm getting' that drugged up, trippy-ass feeling again. Grab the fucking popcorn, Jackie."

The two watched as the scenery altered and they were suddenly downstairs in their mother's dining room. A slighter taller form of Jack that had just been playing guitar was now sitting across from the younger Bobby.

Bobby took in the scene, his eyes wandering over this past version of himself and his little brother. It seemed so typical that it could be just about any memory, but Bobby knew better. With sad eyes, Bobby watched and waited for what he knew was to come.


	5. Losing

_"Back up, back up, take another chance. Don't you mess up, mess up, I don't want to lose you" – The Little Things by Colby Caillat & Jason Reeves_

_"Okay, Bobby, what is your favorite food?" The young Jack kicked his foot bashfully against the leg of the table as he waited eagerly to scribble the answer down in his notebook._

_"How many questions are there?" Bobby groaned, throwing his head back._

_"Come on, Bobby, please?"_

_"I got shit to do Jackie." Bobby grunted. "Johnny has a friend's car he wants me to – fix – while I'm here. I got some other stuff to take care of. Are we seriously gonna spend the whole damn time I'm home sitting here with you doing freakin' 20 questions?"_

_"Just tell me any answer," Jack spoke dejectedly, attempting to hide his hurt in vain, "I don't care."_

_"Look, Jackie, I got to go. Maybe we'll do this later. Maybe. I don't like fucking talking about anything, especially me. Okay? Just leave me alone for five fucking seconds."_

_Jack didn't speak. Without hardly a sound, the youngest Mercer closed his notebook and pushed back his chair, mumbling an almost inaudible 'sorry', before exiting the kitchen._

_"Bobby."_

_Bobby lowered his head at the familiar voice and tone. With an exasperated sigh, the eldest brother turned his head to look at his mother who was entering from the living room._

As young Bobby turned, so did Bobby. His heart punched through his chest and he nearly fell over at the sight. Clinging to the doorway, Bobby was almost relieved he was pulling this invisible Scrooge gig. He felt himself fall apart at this vision of his mother and was glad only ghost Jack was there to witness it.

_"He didn't have to be such a girl and be so dramatic about it," the sitting Bobby reasoned as Evelyn took Jack's vacant seat._

_"And you didn't have to be so mean, Bobby Mercer." Evelyn rose an eyebrow._

_"Bobby bein' mean?" a new voice joined the dining room. "Someone tell me something new."_

_Jerry dodged as Bobby reached out to take a swing at his younger brother. With a laugh, Jeremiah proceeded into the kitchen._

_"Who the fuck takes summer school anyway?" Bobby huffed._

_"You did," Evelyn nodded at her eldest._

_"Yeah," Bobby grunted. "Only because I was forced to go so I could graduate."_

_"That makes it so much better than what Jack's doin'" Jerry teased sarcastically as he reemerged with a paper sack and banana in his hands. "I'll see ya'll later."_

_"Have a good day at work, Jeremiah," Evelyn smiled._

_"You too, Mom," Jerry returned the gesture._

_"Man, you're both leaving me?" Bobby groaned. "That means I got fairy duty all day. What is the dumbass class he takin' anyway?"_

_"Creative writing," Evelyn waved as Jeremiah slipped out the door._

_"You've got to be freakin' kidding me."_

_"Bobby," Evelyn lightly reprimanded._

_"How the fu – heck am I supposed to help him with that? And what does it have to do with me? I hate talkin' 'bout me. You know that. So does Jack – and a few reporters that I may or may not have put in the hospital."_

_"Bobby, did you even ask your brother what the assignment was?" Evelyn, questioned, ignoring his son's arguments._

_Bobby just stared at her blankly. He had been too aggravated by the onslaught of questions to care._

_"Last week was Father's day," she said plainly._

_"Yeah? So?"_

_Bobby never did pay much attention to such a holiday. He had no reason to. He hadn't even realized the celebration had come and gone._

_"Well, it seems Jack's teacher assigned her students to write a piece on their fathers." She paused. "Let's just say the woman is new to Detroit –"_

_"I'd say," Bobby shook his head and then snapped his head up in realization. "Jack."_

_Evelyn nodded solemnly._

_"Apparently he turned in a pretty graphic and disturbing rough draft piece of work, as did several other students. My work is even getting involved with some of the students. She changed the assignment to have them write about someone they see as a father figure in their life, real, imagined, historical figure, anyone they can think of."_

_Bobby's eyes softened as they danced with slow realization._

_"But – but I'm not –"_

_"I know," Evelyn sighed, "and so does Jack. But you are the closest thing he's ever had to a proper father. I know it may seem uncomfortable or odd, but he is young. He knows you are his brother and doesn't expect you to be any more than that. But he looks up to you, trusts you, loves you, even tries to be like you. You're his role model."_

_"Shit. I hope not." Bobby shook his head. "I mean that damn much to him?"_

_"Yes, you do. All your brothers love you very much, as do I, despite your tongue and temper."_

_"Guess it's apologizing time, huh?"_

_"That would be good," Evelyn smiled as she stood and grabbed her purse._

_The two said their goodbyes and Evelyn headed for work while Bobby headed for the stairs. It seemed like a longer ascension than usual as he heavily took each step. He wondered how many times he would make this trip to his brother's closed door._

There was no music this time as Bobby followed himself up to the hallway and again played audience, leaning against his brother's room's threshold. He vaguely wondered how he hadn't worn away the woodwork where his shoulder had spent much time over the years. He looked in to find the young Jack sitting at his desk, back towards the door. He watched as his younger clone paced slightly, and remembered these moments of figuring out what to say.

_Finally, Bobby sank down onto Jack's bed and simply watched his baby brother for a moment before speaking._

_"Pizza," Bobby spoke, announcing his presence._

_Jack warily glanced over at his older brother with hurting and confused eyes._

_"My favorite food is pizza," Bobby explained, "next to Chinese take out, 'course. My favorite color is red. I really hope you know by now that my favorite sport is hockey. Football is acceptable too but baseball or golf are outta' the question. I like beer or whiskey. No fruity shit. Oh, and I prefer brunettes."_

_Jack merely stared wordlessly at Bobby with an unreadable expression._

_"Well, come on, Jackie," Bobby rolled his eyes and slapped the open spot on the bed next to him. "Get out that pen and paper. This here is gold." He offered Jack a knowing look and that was all they needed for an apology._

_Jack rummaged in his desk drawer for his notebook and pencil and hopped onto the bed, fiercely recording the information._

_"What's your life goal?" Jack questioned sheepishly._

_"To have no goals," Bobby laughed and was met by a frustrated furrowed brow of Jack. "Alright, alright. Life goal. Life goal. Huh. To always win."_

_"What's your favorite word?" Jack asked seriously and Bobby had to bite back a curse._

_"Mercer," Bobby nodded._

_"That's mine too," Jack mumbled, as if half not desiring to be heard._

_"You know what else is a good word?" Bobby questioned and Jack looked at him skeptically. "Brother."_

_Bobby swore he saw the corners of Jack's lips turn upward as the boy slowly nodded._

_"What," Jack started and tapped the notebook nervously, "what's your biggest fear?"_

The scene faded and the present versions of the two Mercer brothers were left alone on the edge of the room.

"You remember what you told me?" Jack pressed quietly.

Bobby shook his head absentmindedly but then stopped, his eyes holding a knowing gaze. He stayed strayed out in space for a moment before pulling himself back to reality and turning to face an expectant Jack.

"Losing," Bobby said simply.

No other words needed to be exchanged. Both brothers knew the stories and pains behind that one word. It wasn't about losing a brawl or a hockey match. Bobby's deepest and best hidden fear was loss. Evelyn had cracked that code long ago, of course, as had the brothers in time. Bobby pushed away because he had to. He stayed on the edge of relationships, just as he did with the memories he was currently watching live, because getting involved invoked a level of risk. Bobby had lost so much before coming to stay with Evelyn. Letting anything or anyone else in seemed like just opening a door for more pain. It took quite some time before he finally believed Evelyn wouldn't simply decide one day to give up on him, and even longer for him to still get close, despite the possibility of losing her someday, although he had thought and hoped it wouldn't have been so soon. Now he had lost both her and Jack and even himself. He was losing himself long before any car or bullet touched him and Bobby Mercer knew that.


	6. Fear and Purpose

_"Believe me, nothing is trivial." Eric Draven, The Crow_

And then again, Bobby was downstairs. He was quickly growing tired of the memory elevator that had him jumping back and forth between levels of his childhood home.

The house appeared similar, but somehow felt different. Bobby lazily took in his surroundings. He was also getting annoyed at the inconsistent timeline stumbling. He vaguely noted that some of the décor was different and the pieces of furniture the brothers had broken throughout the years were back in their original place and forms. The thing that gave him an estimation of the year, though, was the wall. There existed a distinct lack of photographs where those of him and his brothers should have been.

The sound of the door opening drew the curious Mercer's attention around. Again, he had to grip the furniture to keep himself steady as a blonde-haired and brightly blue-eyed woman stepped inside, a runt of a teenager wearing clothing that was swallowing his stout frame hole at her side.

_"Welcome home, Bobby."_

The first time Evelyn brought him home. Bobby was in silent tears as he watched the interaction. Grief at the thought of his mother fought to control him, but joy from the memory was beginning to winning. As much as he had pretended otherwise and given Evelyn attitude, this was one of the happiest moments of his entire existence.

"Where it all began," Jack nodded from beside Bobby.

"Everything changed after her," Bobby agreed through a struggling voice.

"From her bring home Jerry," Jack continued as they watched a teenage Jeremiah step through the front door.

"Then Angel," Bobby grinned at the memory of the bitter and cold young Angel being greeted by an eager Bobby and Jeremiah.

"Then me," Jack spoke softly.

"Then you," Bobby echoed, barely able to watch the small, broken boy being escorted inside by Evelyn. "That was one of the scariest days of my whole damn life," he reluctantly admitted.

_"What's the matter, Bobby?"_

The voice caused Bobby's world to tilt. It didn't matter how many times he saw her in these memories, it still pierced him. He hesitantly turned, half expecting to see the ghost of his mother facing him. Instead, a white-haired woman with varying blonde streaks struggling to survive old age was sitting on the couch, waving a younger version of himself over.

_"Hey, since when did we stop talking, Robert Mercer?" She questioned sternly as the young adult instead made to simply walk by. "We're still friends, aren't we? Come on, now. Tell me what's on that mind of yours."_

_Again, she was met with a wall of reluctance and silence._

_"It's Jack, isn't it?" Evelyn sighed thoughtfully._

_"I dunno, Ma. I dunno what to do here. He's – different."_

_"Yes, because the rest of you were so normal." Evelyn teased softly. "He's just gone through different things than you boys did."_

_"He's so small and he looks like he's gonna cry – all the time. I'm – I'm afraid of him, Ma."_

_"Bobby Mercer, afraid?" She gasped in mock shock. "You know, he's –"_

_"More afraid of me than I am of him. I know. You tell Angel the same thing about spiders." Bobby chuckled._

_"Well, Jack most certainly isn't a spider," Evelyn smiled._

_"He sure acts like I'm gonna step on him or somethin'." Bobby shrugged in defeat._

_"Just be patient and give it time. I know you'll both warm up to each other."_

"Shit," Bobby shook his head, "I was so scared 'a you, Jackie."

"Yeah," Jack shoved his hands in his pockets, "me too."

"You were so fucking young and breakable, ya know?" Bobby lamented.

"I remember," Jack's voice was but a thread.

"Angel and Jerry – they - you were different. I was sure I was gonna hurt you or scare you."

"But you didn't," Jack said seriously and then chuckled. "Well, maybe a little."

Time seemed to progress and soon the young Bobby Mercer was sprawled out on the couch and day had turned to night outside the front windows.

_Bobby Mercer couldn't sleep. The new addition to their family was weighing far too heavily on his mind to allow for rest. He tossed about on the couch for several minutes before carelessly flipping on the television. The distraction didn't work. It wasn't long before the eldest brother was throwing off his blankets and trudging up the stairs._

_Soft voices were emitting from behind Bobby's old bedroom. Silently, Bobby made his way down the hallway and stood outside the closed door._

_"I can't sleep here," a small voice Bobby had yet to hear spoke._

_"Of course you can, Jack. You're safe here."_

_"No. I'm not."_

_"The people that hurt you are gone, Jackie. They can't get to you ever again."_

_"Not – not just them." Jack's voice was hardly a wisp in the air._

_"Ah, I see," Evelyn's voice held a knowing smile of sympathy. "You're afraid of my boys?"_

_Bobby imagined the small boy nodding shyly in response._

_"Jackie, honey, are you dangerous?"_

_"What – no."_

_"Would you ever purposely hurt anyone that you cared about?"_

_"N – no."_

_"Of course not. Now, if I know that about you, I certainly know it of my other sons. Oh, they may look and act and talk big and scary, but they're really harmless when it comes to their family."_

_"B-Bobby – he – he doesn't like me. He – I – he's scary."_

_"Yes, Bobby does seem quite scary at first, doesn't he? But he's not so big. I think soon enough even you'll be taller than him."_

_Bobby would have been offended and retaliated with violence had the comment been spoken by anyone else – or had it not provoked the sweet sound of laughter from Jack._

_"Bobby likes to look tough," Evelyn continued to explain. "He's been hurt, like you. He's got scars, Jackie, just like you do. All my boys do. Maybe not in the same way, but you all have your pasts. Bobby's wasn't a pretty one, I'm sad to say. I think he understands a lot of what you're feeling more than you know. Give him a chance. You'll find underneath all that talk and scariness, is one big heart. He fiercly loves and protects his family, and that includes you now."_

_"He's still scary to me," Jack quietly protested and Bobby stifled a chuckle at his new brother's stubbornness._

_"I know everything's going to be scary for awhile at first," Evelyn sighed._

_There was a long silence and Bobby considering abandoning his secret post when that small voice sounded once more._

_"I – I saw them." Jack's voice was microscopic now._

_"Who, baby?"_

_"_ Them _." Jack repeated brokenly. "In my dreams. I always see them and I'm always scared. Scared they'll find me again. I don't wanna be scared no more."_

_Bobby's fists clenched. He loathed 'them', whoever they were. Parents, foster parents, uncles, neighbors, teachers – there was always a 'them' – or a 'him' or a 'her'. Bobby desperately desired five minutes alone with 'them'. This kid was terrified of everything and everyone, including Bobby, but it all came back to 'them'. Jack spoke of fearing Bobby, but came right back to talking about 'them'. Bobby wasn't the problem. Bobby wasn't his true fear. They were. They were the root of all the new Mercer's terrible fears._

_"I have an idea," Evelyn spoke hopefully._

_There was a short silence and suddenly the door was pulled open and Bobby's hidden eavesdropping was promptly busted._

_"I told you I know my sons," Evelyn turned back to Jack with a sly grin. "I want you to do something for me, okay Jack?"_

_"Uh – oh – okay," Jack swallowed, Bobby's presence obviously startling him._

_"Whenever you get scared – whenever you see them in your dreams or anywhere – think of Bobby. Just like how I knew he was standing there, he knew something was wrong. That's why he came up here. You think Bobby's scary? Okay. You don't want to be scared anymore? Okay. How about whenever you see the bad people who hurt you, you think of Bobby. He'll scare them away. What do you think of that?"_

_Jack's small form slowly considered this, his watery eyes briskly stealing glances at Bobby, who was still standing in the hallway. Finally, Jack nodded._

_"Still scared?" Evelyn asked softly._

_"A little," Jack whispered, shame and fear mixing in his features. "It's hard."_

_"I got an idea," Bobby finally spoke. "How 'bout I stay right out here tonight? I won't come in your room if you don't want me to. I can just stay in the hallway. You can even lock the door. But I'll be right here, makin' sure no one – no one – gets to you. I ain't gonna let anyone hurt you, kid."_

_"Could – I – uh – could you stay – in here? In my room? With me?"_

_Bobby smiled and exchanged a long look with his mother._

_"'Course, Cracker Jack. I'll stay."_

_"You'll make them go away? You'll scare them away?"_

_"Hey, if this face don't scare 'em off, these fists will."_

_Evelyn smoothed back Jack's mess of hair and kissed him on the forehead before relinquishing her space on Jack's bed to Bobby. Bidding her children goodnight, Evelyn quietly left the room, a small smile pulling at her cheeks._

"Huh," Jack hummed in his low tone, "I was scared shitless of you and still – something was there, Bobby. I knew – I  _knew_ you'd protect me."

"That was the best day and night of my life," Bobby sighed heavily, no joking present in his statement.

"Yeah," Jack scoffed, "I bet me waking you up every fifteen minutes to check the doors and windows and closet was great. Especially the part where I had a nightmare and kicked you in the –"

"Shut up," Bobby huffed, still serious. "Jack, livin' on the streets, man, was all about fucking survival. Then Ma took me in. Straightened me out, well, as much as she could. Jerry and Angel were trouble. Gangbangers with attitudes and fists. Like me. They had their shit to deal with and Ma 'n I helped 'em. But you – you were different, Jackie. Like hell either of us would ever admit it outside this freakin' place, but we needed each other, man. 21 years old and I was already messin' up my fucking career. The money and fame and parties and chicks and all that shit wasn't enough. Fuck, man,  _hockey_ , the game – wasn't enough. So I could kick everyone's asses on the ice, big damn deal. They you come along. Hockey didn't need me. Hell, my team did fucking fine without me. I know Ma, Jer', Angel – they all loved me and needed me in some way, but not like you did. Hell, I'm dyin' anyway so I'll fucking say it. Jackie, man, I needed you. Still do. Damn it, Jack, you got me sayin' all this gay shit."

Jack didn't respond. His gaze was distant, his thoughts somewhere else.

"Jack?"

"I never –" Jack coughed and turned away from Bobby, planting his eyes on the floor. "Damn it, Bobby, I was so fucked up when – and I was so fucking scared. All the damn time. I was just some messed up kid. Man, I know I needed you but I never – I never figured you –"

"Yeah," Bobby nodded. "But you tell anyone else and I'll beat your skinny ass."

"Sure, Bobby."

 


	7. Tired

_"Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things." – Robert Brault_

Bobby lingered in this memory after it was finished. With a genuine grin, the eldest Mercer exited the bedroom and descended the stairs. His smile spread when he got to the living room and what he was searching for.

The wall was still different and outdated, of course, but now, it was whole. A child-size Jack peeked at the camera through elongated locks of hair. Bobby snickered at Angel's corny grin underneath a finely groom afro. He had been openly elated to see his brother return from the Marines without it, having made countless threats to shave it off himself. Jerry's hair had always been short, but these pictures lacked any facial hair that Jerry now wore with pride.

The television snapped on behind him and Bobby whirled around to watch other memories playing out. He saw Jerry and Angel in the stands of one of his hockey games, vehemently cheering him on. That station switched abruptly to Angel and Bobby working on their cars together. The next wave of static brought on the image of Bobby handing Jerry boards as Jeremiah sat up a tree. Bobby watched as Jerry and Angel wrested one another on the floor. He had to hold back a broken sob when the television broadcasted the brothers' hockey game on that somber Thanksgiving day.

The television faded to static and suddenly, somewhere in the distance, Bobby heard his name.

"Jerry?"

Bobby turned to Jack for answers but he was gone. The house was growing bright, all around him, light intensified and spread.

"Clear!"

Bobby felt something slam against his chest and a current ripped through his body. The force brought the Mercer swiftly to his knees. The light was assaulting him now. It was an odd white, not yellow as if daylight flooding through the windows. This was different.

"Clear!"

Another flash. More light. More pain.

A hospital.

Bobby tried to grab a hold of something, anything. His mother's house was teetering against the backdrop of a hospital ceiling.

"Jack!"

Bobby cried out in both worlds. With all his strength, he reached out for the wall, ripping the photograph of Jack off the wall. The whirling and agony and flashing came to an abrupt halt and Bobby stumbled forward. He crashed to the wooden floor, his youngest brother's picture still tightly in his grasp.

"What the fuck?" Bobby spat, slowly climbing to an uneasy stance.

"You reached out to them," Jack's close voice help bring Bobby steady and he glanced over to see his little ghost of a brother by his side once more.

"What?"

"You miss them," Jack stated matter-of-factly. "You started to fight. Just like Angel told you to. You can keep fighting, Bobby. You can stop hanging on to me," Jack continued, taking his picture from Bobby's hands, "and go back."

"You know," Bobby huffed, collapsing into a chair, "I wanted so fucking bad to fight. To live. But – Jack – I don't know, man."

Jack offered Bobby a curious glance to signal him to continue.

"I'm in my thirties, but I feel like I've been alive for 100 years. I'm tired, Jackie. Tired of fighting. Tired of always trying to keep my fucking head above the water all the damn time, ya know? With Ma around, it was okay. Things could be fallin' apart. But if she was there – " he let the thought fall into the silence. "Then everything was about revenge. I didn't care who got in my way or who got hurt. I was ready to pop Jerry just for thinkin' he had something' to do with the whole mess. And then - then – you died. You fucking died, Jack. What the hell was I supposed to do? I was your brother. I was supposed to protect you. I got you involved. I got you fucking killed."

"Ah, I got myself killed, Bobby," Jack sighed. "I ran after that piece of shit without thinking."

"But I shoulda' been there –"

"You were there. You shot that motherfucker before he could shoot me again. You made it so I could hang on and see everyone again. If it wasn't for you, the last thing I would've ever seen would've been my killer. Instead, I got to see my brothers one last time – together."

"What do I do now?"

"You decide."

"Damn it. Well, what if I want to fucking stay here with you? Huh? What if I'm just too fucking tired to go back there?"

"Shit, Bobby, don't get all emotional on me," Jack teased apathetically.

"Shut the fuck up little brother."

"Bobby, I can't decide for you. You stay or you go back. Not everyone gets to make this choice."

"Did you?"

Jack paused. His whole form stiffened and his jaw set as if not knowing what to say.

"Jack?" Bobby pushed, his voice becoming dangerous.

"Yeah," Jack finally whispered.

"What?"Bobby nearly screamed.

"I was drowning in my own fucking blood, Bobby. I couldn't breathe – and – and everything hurt so much." Jack's voice broke. "My whole damn life I had to fight for everything. To be accepted, to get my music heard, to eat, to be loved – to survive. I guess there comes a point where you either get beaten down too far or you step out of the ring. I guess getting shot was a little of both. I was barely hanging onto the ropes and then I made the decision to leave. I quit before death could take me – could win. I didn't let it drag me down. I walked right up to it." He hesitated and glanced away. "Then – then I saw her."

"Who?"

"Evelyn," Jack said slowly, watching the shock wash over his brother's face. "I saw Evelyn. Just like you're seeing me. She told me I could stay with her or hang on. I – I'm sorry."

"So," Bobby stated carefully, "if I stay, she's here too."

Jack nodded soberly.

"But what about Angel and Jerry?"

"They stay there, living their lives until it's their time to decide."

"I can't fucking make a decision like this."

"You have to."

"Says who? Who the fuck came up with such a bullshit flawed system? Let me guess, you can't tell me that either." He paused, running a hand over his face. "Do I – Can I see her before, you know – before I decide? Can I talk to her?"

"I guess your brother isn't good enough for you," Jack teased hollowly. "That's not how it works, Bobby. You see me now because –well – I don't really know. After Evelyn died, I couldn't let her go. It – I just couldn't. Maybe it's 'cause you're hanging on to me or something. But – yeah - you'll see her if you decide to stay," Jack finally answered solemnly.

"What is she like?"

"What is she always like?" Jack shrugged and chuckled. "She was happy to see me, but not here. She told me I should've went back."

"You never did listen to her."

"And you did?" Jack threw back playfully.

"Who else – I mean –" Bobby verbally grasped for answers.

"I can't tell you everything, Bobby."

"And why not?"

"I just can't. You haven't decided yet. If I tell you, you won't be able to go back."

"This is bullshit." Bobby spat. "Why let us decide? Why put us through this? It ain't fair!"

"Bobby, when were our lives ever fair?"

Bobby rolled his head back and closed his eyes briefly. There was a weighted silence hovering over them.

"Do you miss them – everyone you left behind?" He asked in an uncharacteristically quiet tone.

"Always," Jack nodded without even a second to think on the answer. "It helps to remember that they're alive and okay, but most of the time it just sucks that you're not with them. I died, Bobby. I was gone. You lost a brother that day. But for me, it was like I lost three. You guys, my friends, my band. I miss my guitar. Damn it, I even miss playing hockey. The sound of rain against the roof. Cloudy days. The way you feel when a girl winks at you from across the room or when you're on stage. Sex. The Italian place next door that always made my apartment in New York smell like pizza. Time. And not enough of it. The stupid shit. Of course you miss the big things – family. But it's the little things you never would have thought you'd miss that eat away at you."


	8. You Saved Me

_"We all take different paths in life, but no matter where we go, we take a little of each other everywhere." – Tim McGraw_

Bobby tried to listen to Jack. He did. He tried to believe his younger brother that what had happened wasn't his fault, but still, the next memory came. Bobby sensed it hanging in the air and silently walked to the front door. With only a moment of hesitation, Bobby stepped outside into the sharp and biting air.

"Bobby," Jack sighed, "why are we here?"

He took in the new scenery that surrounded them. Of course, it wasn't new at all. Another memory. Bobby's memory. Jack could barely recall anything from that particular memory. All Jack could remember was pain. All Bobby could remember was – everything. He had never forgotten one single detail of that day. The smell of gunpowder and iron had poisoned the winter air. He could still feel bricks against him, bullets flying inches away from his legs and feet. The emotions were just as overpowering in this dream-like state as they were that day. The terror, anguish, grief, rage and guilt. It all assaulted him again and he let his knees buckle. The eldest Mercer crumpled to the ground, knees hitting the blood stained snow where his brother had laid, had died.

"You know why," Bobby breathed in a low voice.

"This isn't the first time you've come back to this place, this memory," Jack said more as a statement than a question. "All those good, happy, things you forgot. But this you hang on to."

"I killed you," Bobby whispered.

"You didn't shoot me, Bobby," Jack shook his head.

"The second I came back, I put you in danger. The second I came into your life – I put you at risk. Maybe if I never came back. Maybe if Ma hadn't –"

"Don't," Jack bit off. "Don't you say it. If Evelyn had never taken me in I would've been dead a long time ago. It would've been that son of a bitch maybe taking it too far, or the drugs, or me finally having enough and ending my fucking life like I had already tried to do. And if she hadn't taken you in, you wouldn't have been there to help me, to save me. Bobby, you did not kill me. You saved me. You, Evelyn, Jerry and Angel saved me. I was this fucked up kid. I was dead, alive and breathing, but nothing else – taking the pain and biding my time. I wasn't living before Evelyn took me in and you helped me. And before you make some Bobby-style, smartass joke about how that sounds gay – it's true. Cliché, yes. A lie, hell no. You have to let me go, Bobby. You have to keep going. I don't want you to just give up and neither would Evelyn. Don't let your life end because ours did."

"How the fuck am I supposed to keep going?" Bobby groaned. "Hell, I tried, Jackie. I tried, but nothing is the same without you 'n Ma."

"And nothing is going to be the same for Jerry or Angel without you. Things don't ever stay the same, Bobby. People change. People die. But don't willingly walk into the light because you wanna give up. Mercers don't quit, remember?"

The sentence seemed to pierce Bobby's very being as he recalled sitting on that bed with that sullen little boy who imagined he would never learn guitar. He had just witnessed that memory with Jack, yet it seemed that he had spent almost an entire lifetime in this foreign place.

Bobby chuckled through choked back tears.

"Yeah," he nodded, "Mercers don't quit."

With a weighted sigh and a lengthy moment of silence, Bobby finally stood and faced his youngest brother. They simply stared intensely at each other until Bobby swung his arms around Jack's shoulders.

"You know I love you, man" Bobby ruffled Jack's hair while still in the embrace. "Goodbye, Jack," he whispered the hardest words he had ever had to say.

"Goodbye, Bobby," Jack finally lifted his arms to return the gesture. "And, now, I don't wanna see you again for a long damn time."

"Yeah, yeah," Bobby swatted Jack's head. "You got it, little brother." He paused and glanced around. "So, how do I blow this joint? Do not tell me I have to click my fucking heels or any of that shit."

"No," Jack smiled and rolled his eyes. "You just let me go. And then – well, then, you hold onto to everything else."


	9. Jack

_"My feet have broken free and I am leaving. I'm not gonna stand here, feeling lonely. But I don't regret it and I don't think it was just a waste of time." – Colby Caillat and Jason Reeves_

Jack slowly backed up, as if to distance himself from the other worldly vision and all it had contained. He momentarily closed his eyes and then hesitantly opened them again. He could feel his hands shaking and when he looked down, he noticed that his entire body was shuddering.

"What – what was that?" Jack questioned, half to himself.

"That, Jackie, was something I believe you needed to see before you made your decision."

The voice squeezed Jack's heart and he didn't need to turn around to know who was standing there with him.

"Evelyn?"

"Jackie, just once can you call me mom?" The voice teased.

Jack gradually turned on his heel to face the warmly smiling woman. Instantly, he felt as though he was eight years old again and staring up at her, instead of now where he loomed over her.

"I knew I should've put more bricks on your head to keep you from growing so tall. I bet Bobby doesn't like that one bit."

Jack shook his head but his mind was elsewhere.

"I don't understand. Was that – was all that real?"

"If it felt real to you, then it was most definitely real."

"But – I mean – is that all going to happen? Was that the future or something?"

Evelyn merely shrugged and glanced up, feigning ignorance and innocence.

"I stayed," Jack swallowed. "I – I chose to stay – with you."

"And as sweet as I think that was, I wish you wouldn't."

Jack stumbled over his feet and train of thought.

"What? Why?"

"It's not that I don't want to be with you, Jackie," she affirmed, reading his insecure mind. "I'm dead, baby. You don't want to hang around some dead old lady, do you?"

"You're not old," Jack mumbled sheepishly.

"But I  _am_  dead, Jack. It's a horrible truth and I'm so sorry you had to go through such pain because of it. But I'm gone. What happened to me was awful – but it was fatal. There was nothing left – no part of me still clinging that could have fought even if I wanted to. I didn't have a choice. You do. You always thought your older brothers didn't need you, that you just got in the way. You were wrong, Jackie. You remember everything from what you just witnessed, how much losing all three of your brothers hurt, how many things you missed. You're young, Jackie, so young. Now, I can't make this decision for you, but if you won't listen to me, at least listen to yourself."

Jack looked down as he recalled the words he had spoken to Bobby, or would speak to him one day, he wasn't quite sure. Jack was too confused to think straight. He could still feel those emotions that some version of himself had felt in that dream or vision. He recalled the heavy longing to be with his brothers, the desire for Bobby to stay with him, but the need for Jack to convince Bobby to go back and leave him. He imagined all of those things he had listed off for Bobby and knew what it would be like to miss all of them. Evelyn was right. Jack had always thought of himself more as a burden than an asset. He got into all sorts of trouble as a child, was constantly told he was drain by foster parents, and had succeeded in letting Victor Sweet's boys get the upper hand on the shoot out by running out that door without thinking. Yet his brothers had grieved for him in a way Jack never imagined possible. He had actually helped Bobby. He was still tired of struggling, of fighting, but that just didn't seem like a good enough excuse anymore after he had shot down his brother's same words.

"If you can convince your hardheaded brother to fight, why can you not convince yourself?"

Jack glanced up at his mother with heavy eyes. They held more emotion than tears could possibly release. He swallowed and the all too familiar taste of iron flooded his lungs. His legs began to ache and he knew he wouldn't be able to stand much longer. With what strength he had left, Jack stepped forward and embraced Evelyn close to him. She tenderly returned the gesture, pushing Jack's mess of hair out of his face.

"You be good, Jackie. Take care of your brothers for me. You take care of each other, alright? Let them take care of you too. I love you."

"I love you too," Jack nearly coughed, the tears joining the blood rising in his throat. "Mom."

There was a comfortable silence and then Jack's eyes widened.

"So, is all that gonna happen? The car, Bobby getting shot?"

Evelyn gave that same look as before and Jack knew he wasn't going to get an answer.

"But, if it does, and I'm not dead – what – what about Bobby? I mean – I won't – I won't be here – or there – to –"

"I'll be here," Evelyn grinned.

Jack returned the smile softly. With a knowing nod, Jack turned around and made his way towards the opening he could sense himself creating, feeling his mother's loving gaze carrying him there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: PLOT TWIST! Okay, so some of you might be thrilled by this ending, while others might feel cheated by the entire story itself because of it. I hope you all like it. Originally, the last chapter was, well, the last chapter. But I had the idea to add this, and, let's face it, we all have trouble letting Jack stay dead. Not to mention I have plans for a sequel of sorts that depended on Jack being alive...let me know if you are interested!

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: If you're upset about the lack of Jack in this first chapter, calm down, stop scratching your Spares tattoo in anticipation, and just wait a tick. Our favorite Mercer is just around the corner, or, the chapter.


End file.
